~ Seasons ~

“Name your favourite season”
she said,
and I balked ~
how do I choose between those I love so much?


Shall I choose Spring for it’s awakening?
For it’s sweet new breath and delicate green lace?
Shall I say ‘yes’ to Spring for the arrival of
blessed warmth
and the appearance of
verdant
new shoots?
Precious Spring ~ I love you best!

Shall Summer ignite my passion?
Summer, with its’ twenty-hour days
and sweaty-degree heat,
Summer of the deepest greens and brightest flowers.
Mosquito-bitten, barefoot Summer ~
you are my favourite!

Shall Autumn’s golden elegance claim my heart?
As shadows lengthen and days darken,
Autumn steals upon me
~ a secret, determined lover ~
whispering
(it’s crisp breath a thrill upon my ear)
of a slower pace.
Autumn, o gilded season ~ how I adore you!

Shall I submit to the crystal promise
Winter leaves upon my doorstep?
Severe of beauty,
fierce Winter demands respect ~
yet, in return,
presents me with a world a-glitter.
Diamond upon diamond,
I am held fast within Winter’s
fearsome thrall.
Season of Ice, you have my heart.



Peace ~

~ Footprints on Hearts ~

There are voices that whisper in the quiet moments. I hear them in my ear - gently, softly. They are the voices of my grandmothers, my parents, my teachers, friends who have loved me, friends who love me still. They are ever-present, they are as Thought and Memory, the two ravens of legend. They guide, remind and chastise me. They encourage me, and they suggest I wait. It is an inescapable fact that we are touched by others as we move through our lives.

If we are truly fortunate we will have loving influences along the way. There will be people who touch our lives in ways we cannot fully explain - people who touch our lives in ways we may never understand. My life has been full of these people, and I hear their voices as I go about my daily tasks.

Perhaps it is an overabundance of sentimentality that keeps me holding fast to the unique and specific timbre of each voice, recalling in minute detail the cadence of speech and the manner of expression of every one. Whether it is the clipped, formal accent belonging to my Grade 3 teacher (a severe Englishwoman with steel grey hair and cerise lipstick), or the eager slur of my youngest cousin (whom I adored and who adored me in return), I hear the words they spoke as clearly as when they were spoken. I may not have grasped the importance of their lessons, and I may not always attain the goals set, or the levels of being that were taught, but the words of their teaching remain unsullied.

Whenever I am tempted to cut corners on a project, my great-grandfather reminds me to “Buy the best you can afford because the cheapest will be the most expensive in the long run.” Should I find myself considering compromising my ideals, it is my mother who says (and this one really annoys me), “You do whatever you think is right.” On the rare occasions I entertain the notion of donning the backless, floor length, baby blue, satin halter dress that was made for me in 1978, my brother’s velvet voice intones, “Isn’t it a bit too...oh, I don’t know....too ABBA for you?”

It is important to remember the lesson as well as the teacher, of course, which is why the little reminders from the recesses of my brain are so welcome. I have a fantastic long-term memory but am lamentably lacking in short-term memory skills. It is for this reason I write things down, making dozens of lists that I invariably forget to take alone with me when I go out to obtain whatever it is I am after. It is impossible to say for certain how profoundly some of these people have affected me...how changed my life has been through my knowing them. I cannot measure their contributions, nor can I assign a value to the wisdom they imparted. I do know that while I am is due, in part, to each one of them...that I would have become a rather different person had any one of them been excluded from my life.

It was Flavia Weedn who said, “Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Others leave footprints on our hearts and we are never, ever the same.”

This is true.

I count myself lucky to have footprints on my heart, and whenever I need to be reminded of the important things, the voices of those I have held dear whisper in the quiet moments - father...mother...brother...grandparents...teachers...friends...and even a few enemies. Their words are important.

Please, Father, may I always listen.



Peace ~